The Mighty Boosh Variety Pack
by Novacaine Child
Summary: A collection of one shots, with eroticness, fluffyness and of course, angstyness. Rated for graphic slash, femmeslash, extreme angst, overwhelming fluff, horrendous lyrics and Ol'Greggophillia! NEW UPDATE! Please R&R xx
1. Sweet Dreams

**Hey, Boosh fans! As promised, a happier fic :). I was reading one shot collections and really enjoying them so that is what I aim for this to be. This is the one I wrote tonight and I'll try to get one up at least once a week, if my homework schedule allows it. As always, please R&R, cause if you don't, Vince might get sick... No-one wants that, least of all Howard, hmm? So don't be selfish. :) Love you all!**

**This Story: Vincey has a nightmare and seeks comfort from Howard. Who knows how it'll end up? Well, most of you, probably. Rated M for Howardince. If you don't like slash, don't read it. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mighty Boosh or any related characters. Noel and Jullian own them. I'm doing all I can to get the Boosh and all characters in my power... until then, I can only make them my playthings in fanfic form. Boo. However, I think I'm starting to crack them, so look out for the fourth series soon if you want Howardince coming to your TV screens... :)**

"Howard?"

Howard moaned sleepily in response to Vince shaking him.

"Howard, I had a nightmare."

Howard rubbed his eyes and sighed. Vince was in his room, in the middle of the night, needing him. Instead of the usual effect these circumstances would have on him, Howard was a little annoyed. He had been in the middle of a beautiful dream, where Vince and him were together, a long term couple, just doing couple-y things. Buying furniture, doing crosswords… Howard rapidly staunched the flow of thoughts and wishes, and looked up at the man standing next to his bed. Vince's hair was tousled, and he wore nothing but a pair of blue silk boxers, dotted with tiny, glittering silver stars. He was biting his lip and looking anxiously down at Howard. Howard softened at the sight of the man he adored, his angel.

"A nightmare, little man?" Howard asked tenderly. "What happened?"

"My hair started coming out, in big clumps. It was well bad. And Gary Newman was there. He was shaking his head all sadly, and trying to comfort me, but he'd lost his voice, and he couldn't sing anymore…" Vince's voice wobbled a little, and he coughed to disguise it, hoping Howard would buy the string of lies he'd just been fed.

"Hey, c'mon Vince," Howard soothed. "It was only a bad dream. You've got Naboo's miracle wax stuff on your hair. It won't ever come out, remember? And Newman hasn't lost his voice. He was on MTV this morning. You watched it."

"I know. But it was still scary. Howard… can I sleep in with you tonight?"

A tiny thrill of sparks shot through Howard as he nodded. It was happening. Vince wanted to sleep in his bed. Alright, so it was far from erotic really, but it was probably the most intimate they'd ever been, and Howard's body was aflame.

"Thanks, Howard. You're a diamond," Vince murmured, as he slid into Howard's crisp, aggressive nutmeg-coloured bedding.

"Mmm…" Howard muttered, trying not to become hypnotised by Vince's lithe, delicious ivory body lying beside him. "Will you sleep okay now?"

"Yeah," Vince confirmed. "I've got you, haven't I?"

"You always had me, Vince," Howard whispered into the dark, not quite quietly enough.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, little man." Howard's voice was too quick, and panicky. He forced himself to relax.

"You did. I heard it."

"You heard nothing."

"Did you say I always had you?"

"No."

"Oh." To Howard's desperate ears, Vince sounded somewhat disappointed. No, that was stupid. Vince didn't want him, of course he wasn't disappointed.

"I wish you had," Vince said quietly.

Howard turned to stare at him, with wide eyes. Vince was lying on his back, steadily eyeballing the ceiling. He blushed a little when Howard's incredulous gaze fell upon his face, but didn't tear his eyes from the light fittings.

"Little man…?" Howard questioned cautiously. Vince forced himself to look the Howard in the face. The air was full of expectancy and hope, and Howard could hardly stand the pressure.

"Mmm?"

Howard took a breath and hooked an arm around Vince's slim waist. Vince sighed comfortably, and wriggled a little closer to the jazz maverick.

"D'you feel better now?" Howard asked, hardly daring to breathe.

"I always feel better when I'm with you, Howard. You're genius," Vince whispered, feeling his heart thump under his ribcage.

"Vince… Are you saying what I think you are?"

"Uh huh," Vince answered softly, pushing Howard's hair away from his face. Howard pressed his cheek into the touch, caught Vince's searching gaze, flushed.

"I always thought you were cute when you blushed, y'know Howard," Vince smiled. Howard blinked at him disbelievingly, then pulled the thinner man close.

"I love you," he suddenly blurted, immediately regretting his bluntness and cringing in terror.

"I love you too, Howard," Vince smiled. He leaned forward and kissed Howard gently, knowing it would be his first time making out with anyone, wanting to break him in gently. Howard kissed him back clumsily, working his lips in a slow, stilted rhythm, hardly able to breathe as butterflies bickered in his stomach. Vince opened his mouth a little, and let his tongue glide sensually over Howard's own mouth. Howard parted his lips, and soon the best friends were French kissing slowly and sexily, with Howard growing more sure and Vince growing more relaxed with each passing second.

Vince pulled away, and Howard could have cried. Vince didn't want to kiss him, he'd realised what they'd been doing was a mistake. It was what he'd been waiting for since Vince admitted his feelings for Howard.

But Vince wasn't regretting anything. In a few seconds he'd agilely wriggled down Howard's body and come to rest between his legs. Howard gasped as he realised what was about to happen. Vince suppressed a little gasp of his own; Howard didn't wear anything to bed and what Vince saw had impressed him immensely.

"Vince," Howard whispered nervously, a catch in his voice.

"Yeah?" Vince's own voice was muffled and jittery sounding.

"I haven't ever… this is my first…"

"I know," Vince said, stroking Howard's thigh soothingly. "I know Howard. Just relax. You'll like it, I promise, it's genius." Vince quietened, and a second later, Howard gasped; Vince was lapping at the tip of Howard's cock with his pointy pink tongue.

"Vince… Little man…" Howard choked. Vince smiled under the covers and drew Howard into his mouth totally, dragging his teeth along Howard's long hard length, then swirling his tongue around it. Howard bucked, moaning loudly.

"Vince I… I'm gonna explode Vince…"

Vince withdrew his mouth.

"You're gonna cum Howard. Wait. It's nice."

He slid his mouth over Howard's cock again and sucked hard, and within a few seconds Howard was teetering at the edge of his first ever orgasm.

"Oh God, Vince," He moaned loudly, breathlessly, pushing his hands under the duvet and tangling them in Vince's lustrous black locks. Vince hummed quietly so that Howard vibrated a little in his mouth, and in that second, Howard reared up into him, yelling loudly, unable to believe that his body could ever feel so good. Vince sucked him gently throughout his orgasm, and afterwards, as the aftershocks came, Vince crawled back up to Howard, cradling him tenderly in his arms.

"Did you like it?" Vince murmured.

"Mmmm…." Howard managed, his voice shaky and gaspy. Vince grinned.

"Good."

The two snuggled together, each breathily heavily against the other's skin. Vince turned to Howard and smiled.

"Howard?"

"Yes, little man?" Howard asked, nervously touching his lips to Vince's temple.

"Before when I said I had a nightmare?"

"Mmm…?"

"It was about you. That we did what we just did… and then you said you didn't want me anymore. That I was just there for your first orgasm."

"C'mon Vince. That's just one more thing that would never have happened," Howard smiled.

"Kay. G'nite Howard."

"Goodnight, baby."

The two men wrapped themselves tightly around each other, and slept soundly and comfortably. And this time, it wasn't just Howard having sweet dreams.

**And they all live happily ever after! A nice fluffy/erotic fic to start us off. There will be a selection of probably angst, fluff and eroticism, so stay tuned, 'cause that's not all folks! R&R, pleaseeeeee! xx**


	2. Howard's Song

**Hey there, Boosh lovers! Second post in a series of assorted Howinces. It's a lot fluffier as I have quite a nice fluffy day myself... Enjoy! And PLEASE R&R. Vince requested that you do personally. What's that Vince? You might slit your throat if I don't get reviews? Oh NO! C'mon, readers. Think of Vincey. Don't be selfish.**

**This story: Vincey has an extra special reason for his lateness today... Very short and fluffy. Do't inhale or you might choke to death on the pink cuteness. Do not consume or you will definately exceed your daily fluff intake.**

**WARNING: Slash. Don't like, don't read. But what are you so afraid of...?**

**WARNING NUMBER TWO: Horrificly written lyrics. I'm not gifted with lyrics. If you fear for your brains, leave. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mighty Boosh or any related characters. But next time I see them live, I'm taking cages to ferry them home in. **

"Why are you late Vince?" Howard questioned irritably. It had been an unusually busy morning, and Howard had had to deal with the customers alone. God knows, he loved Vince, but he was exhausted and annoyed. "It's past two. So c'mon, what happened this time? Rabid duck bit your kneecap? Got your gloves caught in a shiny grandfather clock?"

"No," Vince said, smiling.

"Then what?"

"Umm… I was writing you something, actually."

"That's not funny."

"Huh? What d'you mean?"

"Exactly what I say, Sir. At least make up a decent excuse if you're gonna be this late."

"It's not supposed to be funny, you bumbaclot. I wrote you a song."

"A song?" Howard asked in surprise, softening towards the flustered looking man standing opposite the counter. "You wrote a song? Vince, you're the least musical person I know."

"I know."

"In school you played the tambourine because you couldn't do any other instruments,"

"I know."

"And you broke the tambourine."

"I _know,_ Howard. Miss Benny was furious. But anyway, I have, I've written you a song. It's got a genius tune and everything."

"Well, that's very sweet, little man. I'm touched. Can I hear it?"

"Now?"

"No time like the present."

Vince blushed a pretty shade of pink.

"Okay, I'll sing it. But it's not the best song ever."

"Doesn't matter, I'm sure I'll love it anyway Vince," Howard smiled. Vince flushed again and grinned cheesily back.

"I love you, Howard," he giggled.

"I love you too, little man. C'mon, sing your song."

"Kay. It's called… Howard's song," Vince beamed. Howard nodded thoughtfully.

"A good strong title, Sir. Let's hear it."

Vince cleared his throat and began to sing a clear melodic tune, which ducked and weaved beautifully. His lyrics reached right through Howard's chest and seemed to squeeze his heart.

"_Howard's Song._

_I tangle my fingers in his moustache_

_He smiles a little smile and leans in to my face_

_I kiss him deeply and receive a facial rash_

_But he kisses it away and it's the best taste_

_I've ever known…_

_Howard is my baby's name_

_The jazz maverick chases away all my pain_

_His eyes may be the smallest on earth_

_But the sparkle they throw makes up for their girth_

_And he loves me so much_

_Every smile, very touch_

_Makes the light blaze out of me so bright_

_And he says,_

_it's easy to see why they call you the sunshine kid tonight…_

_My life is surrounded my sparkle and light_

_Yet Howard's the brightest star in my sky_

_Sherriff of stationary is with me tonight_

_And I don't even wanna know how or why,_

_He has chosen me…_

_All I need to know is_

_Howard is my baby's name_

_The jazz maverick chases away all my pain_

_His eyes may be the smallest on earth_

_But the sparkle they throw makes up for their girth_

_And he loves me so much_

_Every smile, very touch_

_Makes the light blaze out of me so bright_

_And he says,_

_it's easy to see why they call you the sunshine kid tonight…_

_And I hope that he knows he's my everything_

_He's my strength, he's my hope, he's the song I sing_

_He's the glitter in my outfits, the fur on my coat_

_the heel on my boots, inspiration for the songs I wrote,_

_He's my world, he's my all, he has all that I need_

_He's the colours in my gloves, he's the sequins and the beads_

_And I'd give Newman and Jagger just to show him that I'm his_

_And I'll love the jazzy diamond 'til the day I let my hair frizz."_

Howard was almost in tears by the time Vince stopped singing.

"You wrote all of that for me?" He questioned, his voice wobbling a little. He cleared his throat.

"Uh huh," Vince nodded proudly, still blushing. Howard's bottom lip trembled.

"Thank you, little man," he said quietly, holding out his arms. Vince smiled and walked around the counter, embracing Howard tightly.

"I just wanted to try to show you how I feel. Did you like it?"

"I loved it." Howard drew back and kissed Vince gently on the lips, trying to communicate his adoration for the younger man.

"Good," Vince smiled when he pulled back.

"Maybe I'll write you one," Howard mused. Humming, he grabbed a pen and a sheet of plain paper and started towards the stairs. Vince glowed momentarily, listening to Howard happily improvising scat, before a thought hit him.

Howard would write him a _jazz_ song, wouldn't he? Oh God. Well shameful.

**So there you are, guys and dolls. Booshes and Booshettes. Please leave a review. Like, please. We don't want anything nasty to happen to poor Vincey..**

**Love! Beebs xx**


	3. Vince's Reality

**Hey honeybuns! I'm writing again… Today's genre is going to be angst, because I've had a rather difficult day and my best friend's in hospital and my other best friend's very ill and puking round the clock… I'm very stressed and all full of sad, so I'm going to share it with the WORLD! Lucky for you though darlings, you don't get the blow-by-blow account of what's going on with me… You get angst in the form of Howard and Vince fanfic! As always please, please R&R, let me know how I'm doing. I'll write more if you like it!**

**This Story: Howard loves Vincey, and Vincey loves Howard's skills… People, you know what I mean. Rated M for seriously graphic slash. You've been warned. Don't read if you're a closed minded homophobic type. That's all I'm saying.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mighty Boosh or any related characters. The Mighty Boosh is owned by Julian Barrat and Noel Fielding. However, I own them both so, really, I indirectly own The Boosh.**

**P.S. Sadly, the above is untrue. I own nothing but the DVDs and an old ticket from seeing them live. Wah.**

Howard looked at his watch and sighed. It was a quarter past two. Vince should be back soon.

He fidgeted in anticipation as he waited, wondering whether or not it would happen tonight. He wasn't sure, Vince had been a little off with him recently, but he had a feeling.

A sound stirred him out of his thoughts. The bell on the door of the Naboutique was ringing, and Vince had stepped into the shop, glaring in irritation.

"That fuckin' bell does my head in, Howard," he whined.

"Mmm," Howard sympathised. Vince obviously hadn't had the best night. It was odd, Howard thought, that Vince, the sunshine kid, managed to light up the entire shop when he walked in, even when he was so obviously annoyed. "Are you alright, little man?"

"Yeah," Vince said shortly, turning away. He hated when Howard was so nice to him, it made him feel so guilty. It wrecked his buzz.

"No, you're not," Howard said carefully, ignoring the scowl Vince directed at him. "C'mon, Vince. What's the matter."

"Nothing, Howard," Vince insisted, sounding annoyed. "Was just a bit of a lame night. It rained and my hair's destroyed and there were no decent girls in the club. And Jack LeCube puked on my new coat."

"Oh, Vince. You had a tough night."

"It's not that bad. I just feel so gross. My hairs a mess and I smell of sick and my coat's ruined." Vince sighed miserably.

"I still think you look beautiful," Howard said softly, walking towards Vince and offering his arms, wanting to cradle the younger man against his chest and protect him. He wrapped himself around Vince, but Vince squirmed uncomfortably and shoved Howard away.

"Don't start Howard, please, not tonight."

Howard bit his lip and nodded, walking silently to his room like a zombie.

****

It had been so different a month ago. Vince had come home that night full of joy, and Howard hadn't been able to believe how gorgeous he'd looked, so full of life and fun and innocence, so lacking in the misery and cynicism that burned in Howard's heart.

"'Oward!" Vince had exclaimed happily. "I met a guy who does the pictures in cheekbone, he's gonna put me on the cover of the issue due in nine hours!"

"That's nice, little man," Howard had smiled, fighting the urge to smother Vince with kisses. Vince had grinned and stepped towards Howard, embracing him in a tight hug.

"You're genius, Howard," he'd murmured, as Howard nervously stroked his hair. Anyone could've seen that Vince was a little drunk. He'd been swaying in Howard's strong arms. Howard tisked softly.

"Thanks. Now c'mon, you should get some rest."

Vince had nodded sleepily and Howard had half led, half carried him to his own bed. It wasn't that Howard had been thinking of taking advantage or anything, nothing of the sort. It was just that Howard's room was closer to the bathroom and he'd wanted Vince to be close to a toilet in case he'd had to puke suddenly later. But as soon as Howard had gently placed Vince down on the bed, Vince had wound his arms around the older man's neck and kissed him so fully and passionately that for a split second Howard had assumed with hope and joy that Vince must love him too. Then he'd realised that Vince was drunk, and he'd forced himself to pull away, almost shaking with the strain of leaving Vince's lips alone.

"Howard," Vince had whispered, before pulling the other man down onto the double bed. Howard had protested weakly, but Vince had rolled Howard onto his back and clambered onto his stomach. He'd leaned down and kissed him whilst unbuttoning the Hawaiian shirt, and Howard hadn't had the strength to resist his fantasy. They'd undressed each other, and Howard had marvelled at the beauty of Vince's alabaster white skin, the fact that he was here, allowed to take Vince's nipple in his mouth and suck gently, allowed to kiss down his stomach to his crotch, allowed to…

It had lasted a few minutes before Vince had come in hot spurts. Howard had almost fainted with the thrill of his dream coming true. And as they were drifting into sleep, Vince snuggled against Howard's arm, Howard had whispered "I love you," into the dark.

"Don't be stupid," Vince had muttered, yawning. "Course you don't."

"I do."

And then Vince had gotten angry. Yelled. He didn't want Howard to say that. It wasn't true . They were just friends. Vince never wanted to speak about that night again. Howard had nodded meekly, clenching his fists into balls of bitter, aching disappointment. He'd watched Vince drift into a deep, unconcerned sleep. And then he had wept.

In the morning, Vince had woken first for once. He'd been dressing as Howard's eyes had flickered open.

"Vince?" Howard had whispered. Vince had turned to face him and grin.

"Alright, Howard?"

"Vince… last night?"

Vince's face had darkened. "Last night never happened," he'd deadpanned.

"But…"

"It didn't happen."

"But Vince, I told you I loved you!"

"No you didn't. I don't know what you're talking about."

Howard had swallowed his words, his eyes burning with humiliated tears. It hadn't been mentioned again. Not until a few nights later, when Vince returned home drunk for the second time. Howard had taken him to bed. Vince had begged Howard to suck him off. And Howard had done it, unable to resist. Over and over and over again the pattern repeated. Vince was always the taker. He'd never give to Howard. Never saw the need to. Meanwhile, Howard was stuck in endless torment, knowing he shouldn't give in to Vince, knowing he should stop. Knowing he couldn't, wouldn't, didn't even want to.

*****

"Tonight's gonna be the hardest yet," Howard thought despairingly to himself, settling on his bed and already feeling tears gliding down his cheeks. He sighed miserably, then jumped; his door handle was turning. Howard hurriedly swiped the tears off his face and looked enquiringly at Vince as he wandered into the room, looking purposeful.

"Vince?"

"I felt bad for snapping. Thought I'd say sorry."

"That's okay, little man."

Vince, who had been avoiding Howard's eyes up until that point, looked up.

"Aw, Howard, you're crying!"

"I'm not, Sir! A bug flew into my eye."

"Liar. You are. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Howard sighed. Vince looked momentarily irritated, then recovered himself and crossed the room to sit on the bed next to the other man. He slid an arm around Howard's shoulder self-consciously, and smiled sympathetically at him.

"Will you feel better if I let you…?"

Howard stared incredulously as Vince gestured to his lap. He gulped, then nodded. Already sliding off the bed and onto his knees. He despised himself, but he couldn't let go. He was too weak.

Vince shut his eyes as Howard slid his flares down over his thighs and let them gather around his ankles. He was afraid of catching Howard's gaze, afraid of what he might see there. Anger or hurt, he thought he could handle. But if it was that look of guileless devotion that Howard so often gave him, he didn't think he could stand it. He didn't want Howard to think he was perfect anymore.

Howard hooked his fingers into the waistband of Vince's satin boxers and pulled them down slowly, tears gathering in his eyes again. He wanted to do this, but he didn't want to. He wanted to show Vince that he loved him, but he wanted Vince to love him back. He didn't want Vince to leave him feeling like some cheap whore again, not today.

Vince whispered Howard's name softly, on the barest breath, and Howard sighed, tears sliding down his cheeks. Vince understood and hesitated, not knowing what he was supposed to do, but Howard made the decision for him, drawing the electro boy fully into his mouth.

Vince gasped and his hands went to Howard's wispy brown hair. Like smoke, he'd always said. It slipped easily through his fingers and he hardly felt it. He sighed again, wondering if Howard's friendship would slip so easily from his grasp, and at that moment, he vowed not to let it happen.

Howard was working hard, carefully manoeuvring his tongue around Vince's dick, taking care to hit all the right spots, sometimes stroking gently with his tongue, sometimes biting slightly with his teeth. Vince moaned loudly, already close to orgasm.

"Uhh… God… Howard," he choked, his hands clutching at Howard's hair, his thumbs finding Howard's eyes and rubbing away tears that fell like raindrops.

Howard sucked harder, sliding his lips back down Vince's whole length, and suddenly Vince was yelling, thrashing and bucking into Howard's mouth, his hands spasming around tufts of Howard's downy hair.

When Vince had recovered a little, Howard stood, shaking and still silently and unceremoniously crying. Vince whimpered into his hands, then grabbed Howard around the waist, forcing him down on the bed. Quickly yanking Howard's corduroy jeans down, Vince wrestled with Howard's pants as the man squirmed in confusion. But then Vince grasped his dick and Howard lay still and trembling.

Vince jerked his wrist twice, maybe three times, and Howard was already gasping and arching his back, trying to increase the pressure. Vince lowered his head and ran his tongue slowly, teasingly over the tip of Howard's dick and Howard screamed, rearing up into Vince's mouth and coming in a hot rush of sweat and misery.

Howard breathed erratically as Vince released him and slowly redressed him with trembling hands. He laid down next to Howard, who immediately wriggled closer to him, unable to decide whether repaying the favour had made him a better person, or not. Had he been the good guy in doing that?

"Thank you," Howard murmured.

"No problem," Vince whispered back.

"I love you," Howard sighed. Vince shut his eyes tightly as he felt the desperate tears form.

"No, you don't, Howard. You don't."

In the morning, Howard asked about it. And as always, Vince denied all knowledge of Howard's story, despite the stains on his bed sheets. Because, in the daytime, Vince's reality, it wasn't ever real.

Howard cried again that morning. Vince saw him giving himself a Chinese burn and pretended he hadn't, blanked it out with the rest of the facts he never wanted to have to face. But he couldn't shake the image of Howard's face as he'd cried. Howard crying.

He'd never cried before the night a month ago, when Vince got drunk for the first time.

**So there you go. Horrible, yes. Based on my own experiences? Yes, sorta. Meh. I don't feel very good after writing this actually.**

**Know what might cheer me up? A review.**

**Next one will be happier.**

**Beebee x**


	4. I Missed You

**Hi Boosh fans! Just something I knocked up today whilst watching TV. I'll tell you a secret- this was origionally about Green Day members Billie Joe and Tre, but I changed it when I realised it might make a sweet little boosh fic too. Enjoy! R&R xx **

**This Story: Howard gets home after a trip to find Vince showing how much he missed him.**

**Warning: Extreme dirtiness and some sorta implied slash. Don't like, don't read. Although if you elect not to read, I have to wonder what you're expecting when you see a MIGHTY BOOSH fic with two male main characters in rated M when you clicked on this story. Hm.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Boosh. I never did. And I never will. -Cries till death-**

Howard smiled in anticipation as he stood at the front door to the flat above the Nabootique that he and Vince shared. He was debating in his mind whether to ring the doorbell and give Vince a surprise when he came to the door, _or_ to let himself in quietly and give Vince a surprise when he sat down casually next to him like he'd never been away. A mischievous grin played on his face as he imagined the second option. Vince would think it was more amusing, he was certain. He fumbled for his keys.

Howard had not seen Vince in almost four days. He'd flown off to do a photo shoot for the global explorer. The shots were taken around different parts of Switzerland, with backdrops of mountains and beautiful scenery. But as awe inspiring and magical as these places were, Howard was impatient to get home, home to Vince. The shoot was supposed to last an entire week, but Howard's desire to see Vince had made him very keen to get all of his pictures perfect on the first snap of the camera, and he'd done very well; a trip that should have taken around six days had actually taken half of that time. The photographer had been extremely impressed.

Howard slid his key into the lock and twisted it as quietly as possible, listening at the door to try to work out where Vince would be as he did. He could hear electro music blaring from some corner of the house. Vince was probably in the living room. Perfect.

Howard heard something slide and click as the door unlocked and swung open into the unlit hallway, and he mentally shushed the sound. Tiptoeing into the hall, he shut the door behind him and hoped that Vince had not noticed the draught of cold night air that had rushed into the house alongside him. He shrugged his coat off his shoulders, hung it on a peg, and wandered towards the door at the end of the corridor. This door lead to the front room.

But as Howard passed his bedroom, something made him stop. He frowned and silently pressed his ear to the door. His face suddenly broke into a wide smile. He'd located his Vince, and in the most desirable situation he could have imagined. Oh, it was so perfect.

The sounds he could hear coming through the wood of the door were sounds Howard was pretty familiar with. Sweet shouts of pleasure torn from Vince's mouth. He did not hesitate at all in believing that the sounds Vince was making were being caused by Vince himself, alone… The word Vince was shouting again and again was Howard's own name, and Howard knew that Vince could never cheat on him, despite his promiscuous past. Suddenly, Howard realised that he'd never seen Vince masturbate before. But this knowledge came with an added footnote; he really, really wanted to see it.

He twisted the handle on the door and pushed it open, glad that the hinges didn't squeak, to be confronted with one of the most beautiful sights he ever could've imagined.

Their duvet had been kicked to the end of the bed, and Vince laid on the crisp sheets, his purple skinny jeans and lime green silk boxers around his ankles, and his chest bare and shining with his exertions. His eyes were tightly closed, and his mouth was a little open in an "O" of ecstasy. His knees were apart, and his head was thrown back against the pillows, his neck arching, his elaborate hair flopping across his sweaty forehead. One hand was clenched in a fist around a handful of the sheets, opening and closing in mounting passion; the other was clamped tightly around his cock and was pumping furiously. Howard froze, feeling definite stirrings in his own boxers already. Oh God. God, it was so, so sexy.

But it got better.

"Howard," Vince whined, spasming a little as he desperately lifted his hips. Howard suppressed the growl of desire that rose in his throat and watched Vince's working hand, noticing for the first time that Vince was using the technique that Howard always treated him to, flicking his wrist haltingly, teasingly, and running the tip of his thumb up and down his length as he pumped. He felt his legs begin to turn to water.

"Howard…" Vince moaned again. "Uhhh…" he arched his back, his eyes squeezing more tightly closed, his fist tightening, his fingers flexing in the bed sheets. Howard leant back against the wall, actually certain that if he wasn't supported, his legs would buckle underneath him.

"'Oward! Fuck!" Vince shouted, and Howard bit his lip to stop himself from moaning, his own hand sliding sneakily down into his Hawaiian shorts and rubbing himself through his underwear. God. That was Vince, delicious, fucking gorgeous Vince, moaning his name, about to come over him.

"There, Howard… uhh, right there… shit, Howard! Uhhh!" Vince was writing in delicious, selfish pleasure as Howard watched, too aroused to describe. "Fuck me…" Vince choked suddenly. "Fuck me, Howard…"

Howard whined out loud this time, unable to stop himself, but luckily his little sound was drowned out by Vince's much louder moan of pleasure as he untangled his hand from the bed sheets, turned onto his side so that he faced Howard, and quickly forced two fingers into his ass. He yelled, and Howard could hardly stand to watch, his own desire making him dizzy as Vince worked he fingers inside himself, still managing to jerkily flick his wrist. Then suddenly, without warning, he was moaning his loudest yet, gasping and shouting.

"HOWARD! UHHH!"

Howard let a loud moan escape his lips as Vince spilled over his own hand. He continued to rub himself vigorously, watching Vince's face with amusement and want. A split second after he was done, Vince registered that he'd heard a sound, a moan. Who's voice? His own? No, Howard's! Vince's eyes snapped open and widened with shock and something like horror as he saw the jazz maverick standing against the wall, with his hand inside his trousers.

"Howard!"

"You weren't saying it like that a second ago," Howard laughed shyly and a little gaspily. "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

"Well… yeah, it's genius you're home, but… argh," Vince moaned in embarrassment. Howard giggled and withdrew his hand from his shorts, heading over to Vince and kissing him sexily on the mouth.

"That was one of the hottest things I've ever seen," Howard murmured, when they pulled apart. Vince smiled bashfully, blushing a little.

"Yeah?"

"Mmm," confirmed Howard, wiggling out of his shorts and boxers. "Now, you gonna welcome me home?"

"Depends," grinned Vince, still flushed. "Do I get to hear _you_ yell _my_ name now?" He stood up, fully kicking off his boxers and jeans as he did. Howard looked up at him hungrily and caught his eye.

"Of course."

"Then welcome home, babe," Vince beamed, dropping to his knees. Howard put a hand in Vince's hair and smiled. He loved welcome back sex.

THE END.

**There you gooo, honeys. Please R&R and if you gimme ideas on what little ficlets you wanna see the boys in, I'll try to write em up for you!  
Beebs xx**


	5. She Changes With The Night

**Hey... Sorry about the angst overload I've got going on at the moment but it's all occuring at once. I cheated again on this one... Something I wrote up a while ago, wasn't ever intended to be Neon/ Ultra, was actually more of a diary entry. So excuse the style of writing if it's unfamiliar, and sorry again, but thought it'd make a nice little ficlet. I've read it through and decided it's ok, but as it's based on real life, and real life doesn't make sense sometimes, it may be dificult to understand why characters do things. Either just roll with it or offer suggestions for improvements, because I forget that other people don't know the story of my life sometimes. **

**This Story: ANGST! Ultra is madly, stupidly in love with Neon. Sex is a commonplace occurence with them, but Neon seems to think of it as a "friends with privelages" type of arrangement, wheras Ultra's reasons go far deeper. M for sexytimes. Femmeslash ones. The best kind, of course. Well... maybe not always.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mighty Boosh or any related characters. I own this storyline. I wish I didn't. But what can you do? Boosh boys, Noel imparticular, you're welcome to come cheer me up..**

The evening begins just as it always has. We eat, drink, chat, have electro music on in the background and generally just be Ultra and Neon, the normal version. Well, as close to normal as the two of us can manage, anyhow.

It gets a little later. Neon gets ready for bed and so do I. Tonight we are both in silk nightdresses, about mid thigh. Underneath hers, Neon wears silk knickers, electric blue and speckled with stars. Under mine I wear an everyday thong. I don't expect my underwear to be seen, let alone appreciated, so I don't pick out special knickers for her.

She switches off the light and we lie down together in her bed. Her legs, smooth and like silk, brush against mine, also recently shaven. I smile lightly and pull her as close as I dare, and although she makes no attempt to return the affection, she lets me hug her tightly. I'm grateful, always in need of the affection, always glad that my fear of rejection isn't realised by her, and especially tonight while my heart is aching with love for her. It is strange how different Neon is in the night. I'd almost say she was bi-polar sometimes. She switches in the secong the light turns out from fiesty electro bitch to... almost sweet. Not that I'd ever dare to tell her that.

Talk turns to her current biggest crush, that tit from the zoo, Vince. I go along with it, willing to do anything that will please her, too afraid to disagree with her. We laugh together, imagining ourselves with him in various scenarios. Neon twitches as I lie down and close my eyes, thinking of her and breathing just a little harder. She's deeply in lust with Vince. Perhaps as deeply in lust as I am with her, although my love for her goes deeper than hers for that ponce, I'm certain. She carries on spasming and I smile fondly at her, leaning down to bite gently at her earlobe, and then push my tongue into her ear. She breathes hard, no doubt imagining I'm Vince.

"What's he doing?" I ask her, and she proceeds to describe the situation in her mind. She's alone with him, her legs around his waist, his nails on her scalp, his kisses on her neck. I nod and listen, wait until she closes her eyes, then go back to tugging her ear with my teeth, this time drawing my nails through her hair. She breathes still harder and I swallow. She thinks that I'm him and this upsets me, but it's better than not being allowed to touch her. "Know what you are?" She once asked. "You're my masturbator". Demeaning as a job, and the statement makes me feel like her personal whore, but I'll take the pain to be able to get close to her. Now is the tailor-made opportunity for the evening's more surprising and strange events to begin. I summon the courage I couldn't find earlier that evening and push my hand down, down between her legs. She twitches, as I expected, but is otherwise quiet and still.

I do the thing that I always do, pretending it's a joke and a tease, rather than something I desire above all else when I am with her. I stoke her through her knickers with a finger, still scratching at her scalp, telling her she's too easy to get off, telling her that Vince wants her, teasing her mercilessly. She breathes sharply in and I smile, wriggling my fingers under the waistband of her knickers. I swallow, afraid as always of the rejection, and the humiliation that would accompany it, but it never comes. Instead she gasps as I rub up and down the entrance to her vagina, then push my finger inside her. It won't go far because of the position I'm in, parallel to her, but even so, for now moving is too frightening. I add another finger, pushing up as far as I can go, but this is still only to about my second knuckle, and I know that my fingers are curved and likely not as comfortable as they could be.

I take a deep breath and shimmy down, tackling the scariest part of the evening. Taking off her knickers is the most daunting task, because it is where she usually half heartedly resists. With a little coaxing this time, I get them off without trouble. She brings her knees together, but I slip her knickers past them. She calls me a bitch, and I smile indulgently. Neon sighs gently and arches her back as I push two fingers up inside her, the highest they'll go, right down to my hand now that I'm in an easier position.

It's the oddest feeling; I adore the girl lying in front of me, so much. And I savour the closeness, savour the fact that I'm the only one who can do this, that nobody else can touch her and make her feel good in this way. At the same time, I'm very, very miserable... Although she lets me do these things to her, the favours are never returned (not that that matters to me), and I know that it means very little or nothing in her mind. I doubt that she understands that I don't do it just because I want her, but because I adore her and I want to be close with her and have special bonds with her and make her feel good, better than she has before.

I try to clear my mind and look down at her. Automatically, my hand has been getting quicker. I add another finger and relish the small sigh of pleasure that escapes her lips as she twists her head into the pillows and arches. The only awkward spot now is that, somewhat surprisingly, she isn't very vocal. It's difficult to tell when she's come and I don't like to disappoint her. As a result, by the time I'm finished with her, I'm sure she must have orgasmed at least twice. I flop across her stomach, exhausted, and listen as her laboured breathing quickly returns to normal. I bite my lip as she stares at me, and to my eyes her expression seems to be one of awe. I smile, and she smiles back briefly, then falls back against the pillows. I crawl up her a little and rest my head on her stomach. The first session of the evening is over.

After about five minutes of quiet, I ask if she has recovered. The answer is affirmative, and I smile and slither down the sheets again. She stares at me, exhausted, and asks me if I'm really going again already. I laugh softly and tell her I'll wait 'til she recovers a little more. I move back up the bed to snuggle up to her again, pushing her hair off her face with my non messy hand, my heart bleeding with a curious mix of misery and joy.

We talk some more, about Vince again, much to my dismay. Soon after, that conversation ends and I start making the advances again. I slip my hand down through her pubic hair and to her clit, massaging it softly with a finger. She smiles lazily at me.

"Remember our theory about Johnny Two-Hats and Nikky Nine-Gloves?" she asks, smiling, and we invent stories while I stroke her into arousal, stories of Jonny and Nick , our last singer, and the things they did which somehow don't seem anywhere near as inappropriate as what's happening between me and Neon again tonight. When romancing about the boys is over, I crawl down again, first pushing fingers inside her again, moving them quickly 'til she's definitely needing more, then dip my head and shake my hair out of the way. I lower my lips to her, and pull my tongue over her vagina, first flat, then curled, then flicking like butterfly wings. She gasps hard and snakes her hand down to rest on her stomach, breathing heavily, and I try to draw it out as long as possible, alternating between lapping quickly at her clitoris and relishing the mews of pleasure escaping her, and pushing fingers inside her when I need to come up for air. Her legs wrap almost around my shoulders and she holds my head in place with her right ankle. It's unbearably sexy, her touching me and pulling me closer this way. My breathing is understandably faster too now, as I savour the taste of her, enjoying the danger of what we're doing, loving that it's something everyone would say we shouldn't be doing. It's my quietly defiant way of saying "Fuck You" to everyone who would say how wrong this is. Although, of course, that isn't the sole reason I do this so often, not by any means.

To my delight, she pushes her hand down further and grips my head. This she often does when she wants me to hit a certain spot. Today I seem to be getting it right, because she just clenches her hand in my hair and tugs hard. I moan and flick my tongue still faster, adding a finger to finish her off. She arches against me, twitching and gasping, pushing my head down a little so that I can flick my tongue around the entrance of her vagina. She pulls hard at my hair; it hurts and I love it, love when she indulges my masochistic streak. I work faster until she comes suddenly, twisting into almost impossible positions as I keep the movement going. Her face screws up a little and she whispers the words "shit" and "fuck" quietly under her breath as she rides it out.

I continue to drag my tongue over her until the climaxes recede, then crawl quietly up to sit next to her. I just multiple orgasmed, she tells me, and I feel a glow of intense pride. I go to wash my face, which feels stiff and messy. If it'd been up to me I would've savoured the feel of her come on my face, but she hates the smell, so I rinse it away. I return quietly and lie next to her, snuggling up close. We talk some more, then fall silent.

Eventually she says she should sleep. It's about five in the morning, it's already light out, and neither of us have slept a wink so far. I leave her bed and go to mine on the floor, snuggling into it. Previous conversation about Vince runs through my mind and I feel miserable and more lonely than I've ever felt. Neon apologises, and I tell her not to be stupid. We decide there's little chance of sleep tonight and that I should come back. She says she's cold, but it doesn't stop her removing her nightdress. I love the feel of her naked body pressed against me, and the feeling that now she's mine for a short while and I can take care of her and protect her from every evil thing in this world.

We speak about random things for a long while, until morning light starts to stream through the window, bathing Neon's skin in a golden glow and making her look even more delicious. I lie on my back, unable to bear the conflicting emotions roaring through me, and she plays with my hair. This tips my mood into stable happiness- Neon showing affection is rare, and having my hair played with is a luxury and one of the things I enjoy most. I sigh and lie back.

Neon's aim, though, is not to relax me. For the first time, tonight she seems to want to go some of the way to reimbursing me for what I give her. Acknowledging my submissive, masochistic side, she starts to play. She continues playing with my hair, but every five seconds she pulls one out. I moan gently and arch my neck towards her, and she shushes me. I struggle to regain control.

She pulls more and more of my hair out, each new needle-prick of pain making me want her more and more. After a while, she stops. I moan and she lowers her lips to my neck. I want you, she whispers, and the combination of her hot breath on my neck and the delicious images of… well, us, make me jerk and gasp. Sh, she tells me. The game repeats. Again and again she whispers this mantra, each time lower down my neck and closer, and I squirm and try to stifle my sounds of want. I'm frenzied by this time, offering her my neck, not caring if she wants to embed an axe in it so long as it's touched.

In the next second my prayers are answered. She lowers her head again and instead of whispering she bites, not gently but not hard either, at the sensitive part of my neck where it meets my collarbone. Her tongue darts over my skin and I sigh loudly, unable to bear the pressure rising within me. . Oops, I slipped, she says, and smiles evilly. I gasp again, fighting for breath.

Sh! she demands, and I can't obey this time, moaning and sighing quietly and breathily. She glares and pushes her hand over my mouth, watching me until my breathing calms and the tiny sounds stop. She goes back to pulling my hair, one hair at a time, no longer punctuating this with gentle massaging of my head. I want you to thank me, she tells me, and with each new hair she pulls, I thank her in breathy tones. I'm arching my back and twisting my head and opening my mouth in silent screams, and I open my eyes to find her laughing.

"What?" I ask, and she smiles.

"You. You're such a little bitch," she tells me, and I swear that just this phrase makes me nauseous with lust for her. I shut my eyes and moan again, again she asks me for silence, and this time when she picks up a hair, she won't pull. I beg her, say please, nothing works until I ask why. She wants me to tell her why I like it, and I tell her it feels good. She says that it's pain, that pain doesn't feel good, and I have to contradict her, begging her harder to do it, to pull. She rips a few more hairs out of my head, then repeats the begging process. I pull sharply away from her, trying to increase the pressure and the pain, and I pull the hair in her grip out. She slaps me and calls me a cheat and I love it more than I can say. She threatens to punish me, and I stay quietly defiant and surly, feeling brave.

I close my eyes and instantly felt sharp nails scratching down my neck. I moan hard, and shudder beneath her fingertips, and she grins wickedly down at me. Thank me, she demands, and I don't know why but I refuse. She squeezes my throat until my breath rattles and I claw at her arm, begging her to release me, desperate for air.

She lets go and eyes me with distaste. You don't get to scratch me, she says examining her arm. That's not your place. You're just the slave, the dirty, pathetic, stupid little slut. At this moment I have to stop and calm myself, genuinely afraid I might vomit from all the excitement.

She tells me that she has no further want of me, and that I should go to bed. Relishing the pain, I refuse. She hits me again, and threatens all sorts of agonies next if I don't go immediately... eventually she tells me she won't hurt me anymore if I don't go now, silently. So I do. We talk some more until she demands that I be silent. We fall asleep. Two hours later we wake up, exhausted and back to normal Ultra and Neon, electro band mates mode. She's always made it clear that at night time, things are different and nothing's real. In the day, we never acknowledge what happens in the night. Meekly, I hold my tongue and obey this rule, knowing it's my only chance to continue our arrangement. We pretend that the bite on my neck isn't visible, and we make no comment as we sweep numerous hairs from the bed. I wouldn't put it past her to forbid this now overnight tradition if I mentioned it in the cold light of day, her reality.

**There you have it. Yeah, angsty, but life's a bitch. Unless there are reviews in your inbox.  
Please?**

**xxxxx**


	6. Don't Stop Dancing

**Major angst OD. Just realised that the last one with Neon/Ultra was very similar to chapter three. Sorry about that, I forget what I've written sometimes... and you know, everyone loves a little femmeslash. More ANGST for you now, grab the nearest box of black hair dye and a razor blade, there's a strong chance you'll need then when I'm done with you.**

**This Story: Mooooooore angst. Howard loves Vince and Vince loves his hair. It can't end well. M for misery.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mighty Boosh or any related characters. I'm sure that if I did, these stories would be very different. Much less sad and much more horny. Ahem. Let's get on.**

Howard watched Vince as he straightened his hair, humming with unconcerned, childish happiness. Life was one huge merry-go-round for him, Howard thought bitterly, full of lights and sweets and tinny music. He seemed to worry about nothing other than whether or not his hair was perfect and if he'd adopted the styles in cheekbone well enough. And it wasn't even like that worried him much; Vince's hair was always beautiful, and he was effortlessly stylish. Howard hated wasn't just that Vince was so perfect, so loveable. It wasn't that Vince could get girls and Howard couldn't. It went deeper. Because Howard was completely and stupidly in love with the man. Utterly. Adored him. Couldn't imagine life without him. Didn't want to. But at the same time, he despised him with ever fibre of his being. Vince was his best friend and his worst enemy at once, and he sickened Howard with the way he could reduce him to tears and laughs almost simultaneously.

Howard hated Vince, not because he was jealous, not even because Vince didn't love him back, but because Vince was selfish. Yes, completely selfish. Howard had thought it through many times. They were soul-mates, two halves of one whole. And when they'd split into two people before being born, Vince had gone and bloody… _hogged_, yes that was the right word, _hogged_ all of the best attributes. He had the charm, the charisma, the looks, and- the thing Howard envied the most- the happiness. Vince was made of rainbows and sunshine and bubblegum and glitter. He had no major problems in life. He was never miserable. And because he'd taken all of the joy, Howard was left with the misery. The depression. The deep, black, swirling heartache that constantly surrounded him, choking him. Demons danced in his head. Tormented him endlessly. There was no relief from it, no release either, and he was finding it hard to live with the agony.

Howard put a stopper on the dark thoughts whirling in his head. They were going to fast for him to make any sense of them anyway. He turned his attention to Vince, his heart lurching with equal parts devotion and revulsion as Vince put the finishing touches to his fringe and picked up a can of hairspray, smiling in a very satisfied way at his reflection.

"Vince?" Howard suddenly had to ask, trying to keep all emotion out of his voice.

"I know, Howard! Isn't it genius!"

Howard stopped in confusion. "What?"

"My hair! Isn't it amazing! I've backcombed this bit, look, and I've made my fringe fluffier. Kinda punk-bedhead. I could probably do yours like it too! Though actually," he continued doubtfully, "Your hair's like brown smoke. I don't know if you've got enough of it." Vince scrutinised Howard for a moment, then shrugged casually, grinned, and turned back to the mirror, dousing his entire head in hairspray. Howard ground his teeth together, feeling anger and despair rising like lava in his stomach.

"Vince, aren't you EVER sad?" he exclaimed in frustration.

"Nah," came Vince's voice, from the cloud of hairspray. "Nothing to be sad about! Life's a party, Howard! Nothing to do but dance and have fun!"

Howard shook his head sadly.

"Not for me."

"Why? That's just negative thinking. We'll get you a poncho and you'll be well happy! It's impossible to be unhappy in a poncho, Howard."

"So you keep telling me. What if I'm upset about something that a poncho can't fix?"

"Sombrero."

"Argh!" Howard growled, experated, and put his head in his hands, feeling tears start to form and a prickly ache in the back of his throat.

"What's up with you, small eyes?"

"You're up with me," Howard said tiredly, raising his head and looking at Vince with an expression that could almost have been pleading.

"Me?"

"Oh God…Vince… Vince, I love you." Howard took a deep shuddery breath and shut his eyes to try to stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes as Vince blinked in amazement. At least it was said now. And if Vince rejected him entirely, well, he didn't think he could feel much worse than he already did.

"Like… love, love? Or best friend love?"

"The first one," Howard mumbled.

"Oh," said Vince. Then he smiled. "Aww Howard, you diamond. That's well sweet. But you're not my type. Don't worry, though. You'll meet a nice man soon, I bet." Vince turned away, and began humming again, applying lip-gloss to his pouty, uncaring mouth. To the lips that could have spoken so many words, the words Howard needed, and didn't.

Howard was surprised. Vince hadn't mocked him, hadn't been disgusted, hadn't even sniggered, just took Howard's declaration in his stride, almost as though he was expecting it. Then again, Howard realised, he must be used to dealing with this kind of confession. He had to listen to one at least once an hour. And why should his reaction to Howard be any different? He hadn't ever even considered that Vince might love him back, but now the definite loss of everything he'd ever wanted hit him like a train. Vince had handled his response to Howard just right, and it still wasn't enough to keep him sane. Howard took one last lingering look at Vince, studying his face, his hair, his clothes, his stance, everything, imprinting the image onto his brain forever, never wanting to lose the sweet smile on Vince's face, wondering if he'd be the person to make that smile leave Vince's face completely for what would probably be the first time. A sick part of him hoped so as he shut his eyes, took a deep breath and left the room.

Upstairs he ran a hot bath, and took the razor out of the cupboard.

_Vince,_

_I'm gone now. It's over. You and me, two halves of a whole, we thought we could get through anything. Not this time. I'm sorry. But it was too hard. You were too happy and too beautiful and I loved you. And I hated you. And I didn't know how to cope. Please don't feel bad, because this isn't your fault, not really. You couldn't help it. How could someone like you be expected to love someone like me?_

_Don't give up. I couldn't cope with life, but I know you'll do fine. Maybe it'll hurt at first, but time will fix it. Time and a poncho, eh, little man? _

_Life is a party Vince. Never stop dancing._

_I love you, then, now, always, and I'm sorry._

_Howard._

Vince dropped the blood-soaked letter and jack-knifed over, retching. His best friend was dead. He hated himself for not loving Howard. And instantly, Vince knew how Howard had always felt, when he'd talked about his depression. He knew. The smile on his face had wavered and died, becoming an anguished 'O'. The shape of misery.

That was the day that Vince finally stopped dancing.

**Aw :( Vincey was a cool dancer too. Nevermind, review, and the next one WILL be happier. Any ideas by the way, anyone? Or pairings you'd like to see? x**


	7. Fill Me With Your Bailey's!

**Hey sweeties. It's been ages I know but I've been working on a project for a friend so haven't had too much spare time for the boosh. Sad stuff! But I finally fininshed this tiny ficlet and hopefully you'll enjoy it. Oh, and happy new year! xx**

**This tiny ficlet: HowardXOld Gregg. Sort of slash...ish. Don't read it if you're a narrow minded homophobe. Other warnings: There is a mangina involved. And the writing may be awful. Tried to keep Gregg IC but y'know, he's a slippery one. MEH. Anyway, it's M for a reason!!! You're welcome. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mighty Boosh or any related characters. But do I REALLY not own The Mighty Boosh or any related characters? - Something Tommy Nooka might have said, if he wasn't grated away like a scraggly hangnail.**

"D'you love me?"

"No, Gregg, I don't love you!"

The conversation had continued in this vein for at least half an hour now. Howard was ready to crack. In the dank, undersea cave, watching the scaly man-fish try to seduce him with a thousand glasses of Bailey's- "CREAMY!"- and barbeque lids, he wanted out.

"You must love me exactly as I love you Howard!""I don't! I don't love you Gregg!" Howard groaned and hid his face in his hands. He wanted to go back to the flat. Why had he ever gone fishing on black lake?

"I can make you happy Howard. If only you'd let me."

Howard sighed impatiently and turned away from Old Gregg, rolling his eyes. Yeah, sure.

Gregg shuffled closer, smiling eerily as the water reflected around the inside of the cave. Howard shivered in his skin, and edged away.

"I'm Ol' Gregg!" the man (?) cried. "I know how to make you happy."

"I doubt that."

"I know about you Howard. I found your pocket journal. I know you've never kissed anyone. Ol' Gregg's kissed lotsa people. Slash from Guns 'n' Roses was my squeeze for a while. Hm? I know what to do to you..."

Howard flinched. Gregg moved closer still, standing inches away from Howard. He fiddled with a strand of his seaweed, and smiled.

"I know you've never had a girlfriend, Howard. I know you cry in the night-times 'cause nobody's there to warm you. Old Gregg could warm you with his soft hands..." Old Gregg held up a webbed hand, and Howard shuddered a little.

"I don't care that I don't have a girlfriend, Sir. When I meet the right girl, then I'll be ready to enter into some sort of romantic arrangement... not before."

"Then why does your diary say ya do care, hmm?" Old Gregg pulled a pocket journal emblazoned with the words "Howard TJ Moon" from a hidden crevice in his tutu and opened it at a random page, which he quickly scanned, then read aloud: ""Today a girl came into the shop. I obviously impressed her with my knowledge of jazz and I think she found my Sherriff of Stationary Village badge quite alluring. However, Vince batted his eyelashes at her and she was gone from my sight. Why don't I ever get a girlfriend? Is it my moustache? Is it really like a cappuccino stain?"" Gregg smiled sympathetically up at Howard. "It's not your moustache, Howard. You just haven't met the girl for you, hmm? 'Cause you're not meant to be with a girl. Old Gregg's the one who's supposed to take care of you. I'm Old Gregg!"

Howard turned away, pink with humiliation and uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. Fear slithered around the insides of his stomach. He wanted to get out of there.

"Listen to me Howard. I'll tell ya what. I got Bailey's, and everything that's good. And I know how to treat you. I can cook for you- I got a C in home economics. And we got Bailey's. And we can do watercolours together. Whatd'ya say?"Howard turned to give an indignant answer, but as he opened his mouth, Gregg clasped Howard to his chest and forced his mouth down upon the northern jazz maverick's.

The kiss was one of the most extraordinary ever known. Gregg's tongue was not like the tongue of a human... More like the tongue of a lizard, perhaps, and it snaked and twisted around Howard's teeth in a most unnerving way. Howard, too stunned to react, had frozen, then sunk willingly into the kiss when the sensations kicked in. The kiss wasn't perfect, not by any description, but it was Howard's first, and he was drunk with arousal.

Gregg pulled back. Howard reluctantly released his lips and stared at Gregg with something like wonder.

"I'm Ol' Gregg! I told ya I knew what ya needed, Howard Moon." Howard stood, stupefied and blinked at Gregg. "Shall I kiss ya again, Howard?" Gregg asked, smiling seductively. Howard nodded shakily, too high on the new feelings flooding him to resist. Gregg smiled delightedly and pushed his lips against Howard's once more, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip and moaning very slightly into Howard's mouth.

Howard's body was aflame. He trembled, his hands shaking as he pushed them up into Gregg's seaweed, his body quivering as Gregg pressed against him. They kissed passionately for several minutes, until Gregg pulled away, to Howard's immense disappointment.

"You taste of Bailey's," Gregg murmured approvingly, pulling Howard down to the ground to sit on the cold rocks next to him. Howard went willingly. He was too stupefied to fight Gregg off, and he didn't even think he wanted to.

"Make love to me, Howard," Gregg smiled, blinking as sexily as he could in the dim lighting, his body contorted into a position that Howard supposed was meant to be alluring. But right now, he didn't give a damn whether Gregg was part man, part fish, part freak, whatever. He just wanted him, and he wanted him now; his body was screaming for release. But nudging up along side the need was fear.

"I haven't… ever…" muttered Howard, flaming red with nerves.

"I know," Gregg soothed. "Ol' Gregg knows what he's doin', doncha worry your sweet head, Howard." Gregg laid back against the rocks and closed his eyes, spreading his legs apart.

"Now Howard, you come here…" Gregg insisted. Howard nervously shuffled towards the scaly man-fish on his knees, and allowed Gregg to carefully unzip his trousers, freeing his angry-looking erection. Gregg sucked air through his teeth.

"Go gently with me, Howard, Ol' Gregg's a delicate creature. D'you want some Bailey's?"

"Not right now, Gregg…" replied Howard feverishly. He dropped down, so that his belly pressed against Gregg's, and his penis was lined up with Gregg's mangina. "Are you ready?"

"I'm Ol' Gregg… I'm always ready," grinned Gregg, cheekily. Howard smiled and pushed himself right up inside Gregg.

Losing his virginity was not exactly as Howard had envisioned it. Of course, he hadn't pictured sleeping with a half-man-half-fish type creature, and he hadn't entertained the thought of having sex with anyone who greeted him with the line "d'you wanna go to a club where people wee on each other?" And never in his wildest dreams had he considered that the person who finally took his virginity would have a "mangina." But still, here he was, buried inside Gregg up to the hilt whilst the scaly man-fish wriggled and cooed below him, his mangina feeling just as though he expected a vagina to feel, and he was thoroughly enjoying the experience. He sighed and thrusted into Gregg again, already feeling the edge of his orgasm approach.

"Gregg…" he choked, as Gregg crooned his name. "I…"

"S'okay, Howard. Fill me with your creamy Bailey's…" Howard pushed Gregg's comment aside and let go. His orgasm was powerful, and he trembled helplessly, clutching at Gregg's arms as it pulsed and radiated through his body. Tensed, he shivered and moaned uncontrollably until he was done. Spent, he fell, weak and sweating into Gregg's open arms.

"Thank you," Howard murmured. He thought guiltily about his early ejaculation, and added, "And sorry."

"Don't be sorry, my fuzzy little man-peach. You got all the time in the word to make it up to me. Hm?" And Howard nodded, nuzzling against Gregg's chest, giving thanks that his rescue party had been delayed or even had never been formed. He didn't care if nobody ever showed up for him.

Sometimes it was handy that Vince was such a tit.

**There you are, loversss... let me know who you want next, I'm running out of creative juice!**


	8. Mr Moon! Sir!

**Hey there, booshy babes! Yet another fic origionally written for Billie Joe Armstrong and Tre Cool, but I thought you might appreciate it if I made it Booshy anyways. Hope you're all goodgood, and enjoy this chapter. Please R&R!**

**This Story: Howard, Vince, BDSM. Any takers?**

**WARNING: Boy sex. Handcuffs. Bad words. Hard sex. Domination. Don't like, don't read. BUT you're missing out!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh or any related characters. If I did (are you reading Boosh Boys?) I'd give Vince all my candy and even let Howard listen to Jazz. That there is devotion.**

"Bed?" Howard suggested, stifling a yawn.

Vince smiled lazily at his boyfriend. It'd been a long, sleepy Sunday, the summer heat making them drowsy, the absence of any schedule making their lack of motivation go almost unnoticed. The Nabootique was closed on Sundays; they'd spent the day curled up together on the couch, watching old reruns of Vince's favourite TV shows, and talking about nothing. Howard occasionally had gotten up to make tea or find Vince his sweets, make lunch and switch on the air conditioning. But in all, it had been a very passive kind of a day, pleasantly unstructured and drifty. Funny, Vince mused drowsily, how doing nothing could make people so wrecked. He untangled himself from his lover and got to his feet.

"Think it's about time we went, yeah," he said, glancing up at the clock. It was still early by their standards, half past eleven. But Vince was content and sleepy, and Howard would still be with him once they climbed into bed. Plus, Vince thought, smiling secretly, they hadn't had sex yet today. And Vince knew that Howard couldn't resist him once he'd slipped out of his clothes. Feeling slightly more awake, Vince held out his hand to help Howard to his feet, then tiptoed a little to nuzzle into his boyfriend's neck.

"You smell nice," Vince mumbled, almost incoherently. "Like sherbet. And biscuits. All sweet and… sweet."

Howard giggled and wrapped his arms tightly around the little electro boy.

"Thanks. You smell like… strawberry bootlaces. And hairspray. And Vince." Vince pulled back, with his arms wrapped around Howard's waist, letting his lover support his full weight. He pulled a grotesque face and wrinkled his nose, until Howard laughed and stooped to kiss his forehead.

"I like that smell. It's my favourite." Howard smiled at Vince and Vince grinned shyly back. The relationship was still fairly new, they'd only been together for about six months now, and Vince couldn't help but beam like a lunatic every time Howard paid him the slightest compliment.

"Bed, then," he blustered, trying to hide his infatuated blush. Howard solemnly nodded and took his hand, fighting the smile that fought with the corners of his own mouth. He'd seen.

Together, the two ambled comfortably down the corridor to their bedroom. Then, without even a flicker of exchange or acknowledgement, they were undressing each other. Vince obediently lifted his arms at Howard's silent request, and Howard slipped Vince's neon pink T-shirt gently over his head. Vince tugged at Howard's shirt buttons until they all came away from the buttonholes, then slid Howard's shirt off of his broad shoulders. Their lips met in a tender kiss; Howard's mouth was warm and wet on Vince's, his moustache tickled pleasantly, and their tongues danced familiarly and comfortingly, just as they always had. Vince gasped slightly into Howard's embrace, as the skin of their chests met and rubbed pleasantly. Howard snaked a practiced hand down between their hips and nimbly unbuttoned Vince's green skinnies, then grasped his zipper and slid it down with a satisfying grating sound. The denim barely moved and Howard chuckled as he stooped to force his lover's jeans down; Vince stepped out of the pile of lime and removed Howard's belt quickly, letting it hang idly around Howard's hips, before undoing his loose cords and watching, transfixed, as the material skimmed Howard's thighs on its way to the floor. Both boys abandoned their clothing on the carpet as they moved in for another kiss; skilfully, Howard steered Vince over to their bed and they sank down into the mattress, Vince flopping back against the pillows and Howard leaning above him, a leg on either side of Vince's thighs, propped up on his elbows.

Vince was so involved in the kiss that he didn't notice Howard lean slightly to the left and rummage blindly in his bedside drawer for his new toy. He felt Howard inconspicuously lift his left wrist above his head and just arched into the kiss, his tongue begging for more purchase. Then suddenly, the chink of metal against metal registered in his mind at the same time the cool, restrained sensation did. He froze with wide eyes, and Howard seized the opportunity to grab his right wrist and pull it smartly upwards towards the wrought iron headboard. With a resounding click, he secured Vince's other wrist, smiling down at his lover hungrily.

"Howard?" Vince looked at the jazz maverick, stunned and struggling for breath. He bent his head right backwards to look at his wrists. "You cuffed me!"

Howard laughed a little cruelly.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I cuffed you to the bed."

"I didn't even know…. You had… when did…?" Vince seemed to be struggling for words. Howard had NEVER taken control. And as straightforward and mainstream as handcuffs were, they'd just never gotten around to using them. Howard smirked.

"I thought that you'd like them. Do you?"

"Y-yes," Vince managed, splaying his fingers, seeing how much room he still had to manoeuvre. Not much, he acknowledged with some excitement. Enough to twist a few degrees, and he could still move his legs, but that was all.

Howard watched his wriggling with delicious excitement, noting with wry acknowledgement that he liked this feeling, the power that flowed through his veins as Vince squirmed, powerless and vulnerable beneath him. I could do anything to him, Howard realised with a thrill. Anything.

"Lie still," he suddenly commanded, in a voice that was both gentle and insistent, brooking no argument. Vince ceased his twisting and immediately went still, breathing in shallow bursts of paradoxical trusting apprehension as Howard placed cool palms on Vince's thighs. Slowly, as the head of the Shoreditch elite twitched slightly, he pulled Vince's boxers away form his legs, and flung them to a corner of the room. He quietly and unceremoniously removed his own underwear and threw it down next to Vince's, watching Vince's pupils dilate with desire as he did. Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

He sat back a little, resting motionlessly between Vince's open legs. Smirking, he scrutinized his lover; Vince's hair was already ruffled and plastered to his head with anticipatory sweat; His eyes were dark and huge with lust; his mouth was open in silent gasps and whimpers of want; his neck arched, his back tensed, his legs lay apart and his calves nudged Howard's thighs impatiently; his cock was painfully hard and eager; and there, his wrists, restrained uncomfortably. Howard could see that the handcuffs were too tight. He smiled.

"D'you know why you're wearing those?" Howard asked tauntingly, nodding up at the steel constraints. Vince's eyes widened further. God, he'd never known Howard to act like this, and he liked it more than he could say. Shaking his head compliantly, he arced his back and whined.

"Shall I tell you?"

"Yeah…Yes."

"It's because," Howard drawled, "You're a dirty little whore."

Vince's stomach did a back flip. Oh, God. He looked into Howard's face, then shut his eyes tightly. It was too sexy for him to bear. Oh, God. He heard movement, then suddenly felt a tiny jolt in his dick and moaned loudly, his eyes snapping back open. Howard had shuffled up his body a little and was fucking teasing him, sitting almost on Vince's cock, his arse just brushing his tip. Vince closed his eyes. Oh, God.

"Open your eyes, you fucking slut," Howard ordered. Vince whimpered and opened his eyes. Howard was glaring down at him, looking every inch the pissed-off master. "Now tell me. Tell me how dirty you are."

Vince blushed, a little shyly. He'd had this fantasy almost exactly. The master/slave thing wasn't particularly his innermost sexual desire, but he'd definitely wanted to try it. And now here was Howard, restraining him and controlling him, entirely unprompted. He felt nauseous.

"Tell me," Howard murmured, and Vince averted his eyes as he spoke.

"I'm dirty, 'Oward."

"I know. How dirty?"

"So dirty," Vince confessed, feeling like the slut Howard made him out to be and relishing it. "I'm bad, and filthy, and I deserve to be punished." The words sidled out of his mouth and his cheeks flamed as he spoke them. Howard smiled in satisfaction.

"Don't worry, you'll get your punishment," Howard whispered into Vince's ear. He leaned in a little closer, so that his lips brushed Vince's earlobe. "I'm gonna fuck you until you bleed."

Vince moaned aloud and his hips bucked of their own accord. Without warning, Howard had moved his legs so that once again they rested between Vince's, and grabbed the back of Vince's thighs. He forced his lover's body backwards, so that his knees were just a few inches from touching his collarbone, and his arse lifted off the sheets. Vince whimpered in anticipation and trepidation as Howard kneeled and lined himself up.

"Are you really gonna hurt me?" he whispered, trying to keep the tremor of fear out of his voice and half-hoping the answer would be in the affirmative.

"I'm gonna make you scream, little man," Howard growled, and he slammed himself hard up into Vince's tight entrance.

Vince shrieked; Howard was big and he was tiny, but amongst the pain that ripped through him was pleasure. He noticed Howard falter momentarily, saw the look of anxiety flit across his face, but Vince shook his head sharply as Howard opened his mouth, and his lover's expression was immediately replaced with one of gloating triumph. He slid his entire length out, then drove back up inside Vince again.

"Fuck!" Vince shouted, twisting, his legs spasming as Howard moved, trying desperately to grab for his lover, before he remembered the cuffs. Oh yeah…

Howard slipped out of his boyfriend again, the pounded back inside him, even harder than before. A scream was torn from Vince's throat.

"FUCK, HOWARD!" Howard closed his eyes briefly and an almost undetectable spasm contorted his face. But within seconds he had recovered his aplomb and was pounding into Vince again. He picked up the rhythm, slamming hard up to the hilt into Vince each time, relishing the shouts and moans that passed Vince's lips, getting desperately horny every time he saw Vince strain against the handcuffs.

"Oh, God…" Vince was keening loudly. "Oh, God, 'Oward… Jesus!" Howard pumped into him harder still, feeling his orgasm approach and realising frantically that Vince wasn't close enough yet. Still driving up into Vince hard, he leaned over the smaller man, releasing his thighs to quickly unclip one of the cuffs from his right wrist, then secure it to the bedpost.

"Jack yourself," Howard gasped breathlessly, still hammering into Vince's welcoming arse. Vince moaned loudly and grasped himself with a shaking hand, flicking his wrist hard and smearing pre-come down himself with his thumb, still straining against his binding, wanting to touch Howard but not able to stop touching himself with his one free hand. As Howard fucked him harder and faster, he pushed his thighs back up so that Vince's arse was once again lifted from the mattress, and slid into him from a slightly different angle.

"Fuck!" Vince screamed, clenching in a rough contraction around Howard. Howard gasped and jerked his hips faster still, feeling them spasm out of control as his orgasm hit. Vince flicked his wrist twice more as Howard shook and moaned above him, then both of them reared up together, Howard's dick still buried deep inside Vince and his bucking hips pulling Vince's arse still higher off the bed. As Vince felt Howard's load spurt up inside him, he let go, still screaming. His arse hurt, his wrists hurt (especially the working one), his thighs ached, but when he spilled over his hand he experienced the most perfect orgasm he'd had in his life so far.

Once the aftershocks and tremors had shimmied away, Howard unlocked Vince's wrist. And as the moon faded from the sky and the sun rose, bathing them in golden light, they made love again, sweetly and gently, locked at the groin, staring into each other's eyes. Vince hadn't thought he could have loved Howard any more, but his lover had outdone himself, and Vince was brimming with adoration.

"I love you."

"Love you too."

"You're a kinky bitch though."

"I know. Now shut up and kiss me."

**DUH NUH! Vince in cuffs. Hnnng... how many of us didn't die when we saw him on the medieval torture rack?**

**Or was that just me? :P**

**Reviewwww! **

**Beebs xx**


	9. Entwined

**Hello again, sweetpeas! Hope you're all fab. This is just a little fic for Valentine's. Yes, I know, it's 4 days late. But my internet went down, okay? Excuses excuses, I know, but... better late than never, right? Anyway, happy belated Valentine's!**

**This story: Howard longs to send a Valentine to Vince, but fears the electro-boys scorn. Predictable, fluffy nonsense. But a bit sweet here and there so y'know. Just roll with it. :P**

**Warning: Umm... woah. It's clean! Some implied Howard/Vince love but no sexual stuff. Or swearing. Damn, now I feel like I've failed as a writer of Boosh FF. :(**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Mighty Boosh or any related characters. I do own Valentine's cards from them though. :D**

Howard woke early with an uncomfortable jolt. He knew, before he opened his eyes, that there was a reason to loathe today. In his semi-conscious state, he couldn't remember why this free-floating despair was pervading his soul. Peeling his eyes open with a regretful sigh, he looked around his bedroom for clues. He groaned as his gaze alighted on the calendar, hanging guiltily on the wall. February 14th, it admitted apologetically as he glared at it. Valentine's day. Howard rubbed his eyes and sat up, feeling his heart sink to the pit of his belly.

He hated Valentine's Day. The whole thing revolved around Vince. _They might as well call it Vince's Day_, thought Howard irritably, as he got reluctantly out of bed and into his bathroom. Vince would be up earlier than usual to receive the post, wearing some ridiculous loveheart-themed outfit, and systematically plough his way through hundreds of Valentines, not even stopping to try to recall who the sender was. And then, Howard thought bitterly, he would toss each one aside and leave it there on the floor for Howard to clean up.

But it wasn't that the day revolved around Vince that Howard hated. It wasn't even that Howard himself never received a card. It was just that Vince was so content with his Valentines. He never commented on the one so obviously missing from the pile, the most important one.

Howard's.

Because Howard loved Vince desperately. And every year, he bought a sober, meaningful Valentine's card. He even wrote it some years. But he could never give it to Vince, for fear of the teasing and rejection and scorn that Vince would pour over him. And every year it broke his heart that Vince accepted his lack of Valentine from Howard so unquestioningly, so unaffectedly.

Howard finished washing and pulled on his cords and Hawaiian shirt. He looked in the mirror at his bleak, hopeless face and sighed. Vince was the head of the Shoreditch elite. He was a glitter-bug. Of course he'd never feel for Howard what Howard felt for him. They were much too different. Howard felt his lower lip tremble perilously, but bit it hard and, eyes burning, dragged a comb through his hair. He looked into the mirror again, blinking furiously, and examined his face. Sighing, he picked up a moustache comb and neatened his "mocha stain". There, he looked presentable now… but he still couldn't face going downstairs. Not yet.

He could hear jubilant shouts from downstairs. Vince's cries of delight reached him and invaded his heart, making Howard want to be sick. How could he be so happy when Howard was so miserable? Despairingly, he glanced over to the desk in the corner of his room. The crossword puzzles and jazz magazines that usually invaded this space had been moved to make way for a new project: Vince's Valentine.

Howard had elected to make a card instead of buying one this year. He had reasoned that after he had put so much time and effort into constructing his message of love, he wouldn't be able to resist giving it to Vince. Yet the card was complete and written, sitting next to a cream envelope already emblazoned with Vince's name, still waiting. Howard hesitated, then went over to the desk, picking up the Valentine and examining the front critically. He had gone for a personal message. The entire front of the card was a kind of swirling grey mist, the effect having been perfected with spray-paint. This mist was supposed to represent Howard's life. But then in the middle of it all was a flower. It was a tiny daisy, it's stalk bent merrily, looking as though it was dancing despite the surrounding gloom. It's centre was a gold sequin, and all around the outside were petals drawn with multicoloured glitter-glue. The flower's stem was a lime green pipe-cleaner. Howard had written Vince's name around the flower in pretty calligraphic script. He'd used rainbow felt-pens to add a little more colour to his card, and he had been fairly pleased with the result. The card was exactly right, with Vince, the little bright daisy in the middle of his otherwise tedious life.

Howard sighed and opened the card to read his words again.

_Vince,_

_I know this will probably be just one more Valentine to you, only as significant as the hundreds of others you'll get. But I want you to know this: I love you. You really are the sparkly centre to my otherwise meaningless life and I can't imagine being without you._

_Happy Valentine's Day._

_Love, Howard._

He'd kept it short, afraid of really poring his heart out in case it made Vince laugh so hard that he had a heart attack. But really, he reasoned, what else could he have said? The most important words were there in alternating red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet letters: I love you.

Howard jumped as a sound rang through the air. Knuckles on wood. Panicking, he shoved Vince's card into the envelope then turned back towards the door.

"Who's that?"

"It's Vince! Happy Valentine's!"

"You too, little man," Howard called back, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice.

"Can I come in?"

"I suppose." Howard crossed the room and opened the door. Vince stood there, with an air of impish excitement glittering around him. He held out three envelopes.

"You got Valentine's cards!"

Howard stared at him blankly.

"Is this a trick?"

"No!"

A slow smile spread over Howard's face. Sure, the only card he wanted was from Vince, but this was a pleasant little ego boost. He took the three envelopes from Vince and smiled nonchalantly.

"Well, thanks. How many did you get?"

"Four hundred and sixty two so far. I'm taking a break."

"Oh yeah? Anyone interesting?"

"Don't know who most of them are, really. Got one from Bollo." Vince grinned. "And one from Bob Fossil. Well creepy."

Howard made a sound in agreement and turned his attention to the envelopes in his hand.

"Open them then," Vince demanded excitedly, settling himself on Howard's bed and crossing his legs. Howard rolled his eyes at him, sneakily observing Vince's outfit as he did. Yes, it was definitely more than a nod to Valentine's day, he concluded. A pink cat-suit, slashed to the wait, neon pink and patterned all over with purple hearts. He smirked a little, amused, and opened the first of his envelopes. He pulled a small card from it. On the front was a woman he recognised all too well. He turned it around to show Vince.

"Eleanor," he groaned, blushing.

"Oooh," Vince teased, raising his eyebrows. Howard opened the card and read it aloud.

_To my sweet little love monkey,_

_Happy Valentine's Day! Why don't you come over so we can celebrate? I've got a special Valentine's cupid outfit… I can't wait to see you in it. I wanna mess you up fun-time. Hurry, my sweet piece of love nipple…_

_Aaaaaaaaaaadios,_

_Eleanor xx_

"Genius," Vince giggled, as Howard threw it down in disgust. He turned his attention to the next envelope.

"Vince, this one's for you," Howard said, rolling his eyes.

"Oops," said Vince, taking the card from Howard's outstretched hand. He ripped the envelope hurriedly and opened the card with hardly a glance at the cover.

"Jack LeCube," he shrugged offhandedly after a moment, laying the card down beside Eleanor's. He fidgeted uncomfortably and avoided Howard's eyes as he asked, "Gonna open the other one now?"

Howard nodded and turned his gaze curiously to the last envelope. His name was written on it but there was no address. Had it been hand delivered? He looked closer, and saw that the words "Howard TJ Moon" had been written in red crayon.

His heart skipped a beat.

Only Vince had ever been known to write in crayon. Only him. And now, as Howard looked up to fix Vince with a steady gaze, the younger man blushed, bit his lower lip and became suddenly fascinated by Howard's nutmeg coloured bedspread.

"Vince?"

"Just open it," Vince muttered in reply, crimsoning.

Howard shot him a quizzical look, then quickly tore open the envelope. He studied the front of the card and what her saw there left him breathless. This Valentine was definitely from Vince, no doubt about it. There on the front was a picture that could only have been drawn by him. It depicted Vince's own scarf, a flirty feather-boa in electric pink, entwined with one of Howard's profound muffin neckties. Howard stared for a second, feeling a smile inch over his face. But it could still be a joke, he thought cautiously. A sick little prank played only for Vince's amusement.

He opened the card nervously and glanced at the message inside. Rows after rows of Vince's scrawly handwriting in red crayon, just like Howard's name on the envelope. Howard's heart leapt.

_Dear Howard,_

_I know you think that I'm just a shallow glitter-bug who doesn't understand you, and maybe you're right. I try to be the best friend to you that I can but it's hard because you're so amazing and I don't know how I can measure up to someone like you. And I wish I could because… I love you. And every year I've hoped for a Valentine from you. You always look at me as though you're wondering why I race through the cards so fast- it's because there's only one name I'm looking for, and that's yours. I always thought I should send you a card, y'know. But you always said that you hated Valentine's, that it was just a "consumerist ploy to make people spend money." So I thought it would annoy you. But this year, I wanted you to know how much I loved you… So I made you a card instead of buying one, and I hope you understand I just wanted to finally tell you that I love you, so much. I know you probably don't feel the same way… How could you? You're so clever and independent, and I don't understand half the things you say… But it's Valentine's. So I just thought you should know._

_Anyway, I love you. _

_Happy Valentine's Day_

_Vince xxxxx_

Howard felt tears of joy and disbelief spring to his eyes as he read. It was so touching, so honest and simple, so _Vince_, and it made him want to grab his little man around the waist and squeeze him so hard that he had to fight for breath. As it was, he lowered the card slowly, then turned so that his back was to Vince.

"Sorry, Howard," came Vince's faltering voice. Howard's eyes widened.

"Don't be!" he turned back to Vince, away from his desk, clutching Vince's valentine. "Just… read this."

Vince took the envelope and tore it open, looking dumbly at the front, then reading the inside with an expression that was unfathomable. After a moment or two, he let the card fall from his fingers, an ear-splitting grin materialising on his face.

"You love me?"

"_You_ love _me?"_

They giggled nervously, until Vince grabbed Howard's hand.

"We wasted so much time," he said, looking distraught.

"But we know now. We'll make up for it," smiled Howard, hardly able to believe this new turn of events. He pulled Vince over to him, and gazed into his eyes for a heartbeat.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Vince," he whispered, and the new lovers kissed, sweetly and tentatively, feeling their way into a lifetime of love and perfection.

**R&R please, happy love day!**


	10. The End Of Everything

**Hey, Boosh fans. As you know, I tend to write from personal experiences.**

**This may be my last fic.**

**R&R if you like. ****Thanks.**

**This story: Angst. Howard can't take anymore. But then Vince shows up...**

**Warning: Suicide references. Extreme angst.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mighty Boosh or any related characters. Never did, and never will. Just one more reason...**

Howard had made his decision. After several agonising years of living in the swirling black haze of depression, his heart always feeling as though it were being squeezed in a vice, his own frantic breaths choking him, he had had enough. He wanted nothing more to do with this life and its miseries, nothing more to do with the people he had once thought he understood, nothing to do with anything.

Except Vince.

Howard had wrestled with his decision to exit this life many times, and the only reason he hadn't just gone ahead and jumped as soon as he felt the first stab of ice in his heart was his stupid, sparkly friend. Howard knew that if he went through with this decision, he risked hurting Vince, maybe permanently, and that thought made him sick. He'd gone through it a million times in his head, deliberated painfully the cost of his friend's potential pain up against his own.

And he knew that he had to make his own torture end. People did not understand clinical depression, not until they'd had it themselves. There was no way to put into words the emotion that one felt. The closest Howard had ever come to defining such painful emotions was the notion of himself being naked and alone in the Tundra. The vulnerability that made him feel as though he had no hope of ever escaping the torment. The horror which chilled his veins, of knowing that there would be no escape, and no end to his suffering. The loneliness, which penetrated his soul and made him understand that nobody could quite grasp the awfulness of his situation. The misery. So much misery…

Howard winced as the painful thoughts leaked into his mind, like water from a burst dam. He wiped away a stray tear and consoled himself with the thought that it would all be over soon. His mind wandered back to Vince, and this time Howard was able to see what he thought must be the truth: Vince would be fine. He still had his hair. He still had his music. He still had his clothes and his lip gloss and he would be fine without Howard. Much as this thought saddened Howard, he was comforted by the fact that Vince would feel no pain once he was gone. True, he was only a shallow best friend, showing little or no interest in Howard, more curious about the latest fashion trend than Howard's fractured mental health, but he was still a best friend and he was all Howard had. Howard didn't want to imagine that Vince would feel any kind of deep grief after he'd ended his life.

But what if..? Howard wondered masochistically, tumbling back from his safe haven of assuredness into the abyss of unanswerable questions and fears. What if Vince was hurt? What if he cried? Howard rubbed his hands over his face, trying to staunch the flow of thoughts and looking out from where he sat, on the edge of Piney Ridge. He had driven up alone, left Vince a note on the counter in the Nabootique. In it, he had apologised and briefly thanked Vince for being there over the years, trying not to put in too much emotion and heart, fearing Vince would quickly become bored whilst reading his last words. He'd written it in crayon, just to make sure that Vince would notice it, and now, as Howard tried to work up the courage to stop procrastinating, he wondered if Vince had read it yet. It had been several hours since he'd left the shop, and it was likely that Vince would have spotted it. Howard wondered desolately how Vince had reacted to the news. He could picture his friend being slightly less happy for a few minutes, before he got distracted by somebody's outfit or a new copy of cheekbone…

Howard jumped suddenly, and gasped as his body almost threw itself over the cliff of its own accord. A twig had snapped somewhere behind him and to the left. After he had recovered his stance, he looked around with empty eyes, expecting to see nothing, or perhaps a daring rabbit, coming to witness his final exit. His eyes widened.

It was Vince.

"What are you doing here?" Howard asked him flatly. "How did you get here?"

"Found your note and gave it to Naboo," Vince answered him, uncharacteristically soberly. "He read his tea leaves and told me where to find you. Cheekbone ninja gave me a ride up here." Vince sat down, cross legged and a little hunched over. Howard looked over at him, registering that Vince did not look very much like himself. His face was unnaturally pale, and his hair was unstyled looking and messy, as though Vince has been running his hands through it. Around his eyes were pools of dark makeup. And Vince's vibrant clothing looked all wrong on him, too colourful, and somehow too big, as though Vince had shrunk since Howard had left.

Howard took in his friends features, feeling unwell, and then with a strange jolt, he realised what Vince's arrival meant. Vince was coming to take him home. He was not going to just leave and let Howard jump. Howard felt a deep panic rise in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't abandon his plan now, not when he was so close to leaving behind this life of pain and heartbreak. He stood up.

"Vince," he murmured, as the smaller man also clambered to his feet, "I understand what you're trying to do, but it isn't going to work." Howard smiled in a way that he hoped was both comforting and apologetic. "Why are you doing this, Howard?" Vince whispered. Howard moaned aloud. "I've told you. The depression. I can't cope, Vince."

A single tear glided down Vince's ashen cheek, surprising Howard as it left another dirty line down the man's face.

"What about me, 'Oward? How am I gonna cope if you're gone?"

Howard stared at Vince, screaming inside. He couldn't cope. He couldn't. He had to end the pain, end the suffering. Vince would hurt, but he'd only feel guilty for the briefest of moments. Yet he couldn't do this to his friend. And now there was no way out. He screamed, a horrible, animalistic howl of pain, torn from his heart. He couldn't suffer any more!

"Vince, I can't feel like this again! Not anymore! Please, help me, tell me what to do!"

Vince looked into Howard's eyes, welling with desperate pleas, and felt for the first time a small fraction of what Howard was feeling. It almost made his body buckle as Howard fell to his knees, whimpering unintelligible strings of words.

"God, no… I can't… please, help, I can't, God, Jesus…"

Vince knelt down beside his friend, feeling tears slipping rapidly down his face.

"I'm not going to stop you Howard," he whispered earnestly.

Howard looked up at him, his face wet with anguish. "But you said you couldn't cope without me. I can't leave you knowing that I'm hurting you."

"You're not leaving me."

"You aren't making sense!" Howard cried in frustration, clutching his head as it reeled with unstoppable agony.

"I'm coming with you," Vince whispered. Howard's head snapped up, and as he took in Vince's face, his features set in a mask of steely determination, he saw that his friend was serious.

"You can't," Howard breathed incredulously, astounded at the sacrifice Vince was proposing to make.

"I can," Vince replied grimly, still weeping silently. "I know you have to do this. And without you, I haven't got anything. So either way, really, I'm gonna end up toppin' meself. And I'd rather do it with you than on me own."

Howard considered him for a moment. Vince was speaking the truth. And after everything they'd been to together it seemed… almost appropriate for them to die together. Plus, Howard was afraid of the afterlife he might be greeted by, and he knew that even just the thought of oblivion frightened him. With Vince by his side, he always felt a lot braver. He looked Vince square in the face and their eyes locked.

"Okay," he croaked. He stood up, trembling, and held out his hand. Vince took it, shaking violently himself, and the two positioned themselves at the edge of Piney Ridge, not breaking their tight hold on one another.

"It's kind of exciting," Vince admitted quietly.

"What did Peter Pan say?" Howard murmured in agreement. ""To die would be an awfully big adventure.""

"Our biggest yet."

"I love you, Vince."

"I love you too."

They looked down at the vast drop, just inches from their feet. As though reading each other's minds, both men shuffled a little closer to the edge. Stones crumbled away and fell into the darkness. From where they stood, the sound of the pebbles hitting the rocks below couldn't be heard. A strand of hair blew across Vince's face. Howard wiped his own eyes, and then the shimmering eyes of the younger man with his corduroy sleeve.

"Death," murmured Vince gravely.

"Nothingness," replied Howard in an equally sombre voice, calm acceptance settling his fretful heart.

"Oblivion," they said softly in unison. And as the air reverberated with the finality of their last words, Vince squeezed Howard's hand a little tighter.

And together, they jumped.

**Thanks for reading and reviewing. Beebee xxx**


	11. Always Beautiful

Howard Moon sat rigidly on the sofa, his every muscle tensed against the howl of fury that would inevitably come within the next minute. It was 12:31. Vince always woke at 11:46, went to the bathroom for a piss and to take off the makeup that had smudged around his face in the night, took a long, leisurely shower then returned to his bedroom.

To plug in his hair-straighteners at 12:32.

Howard idly reflected on his knowledge of Vince's "morning" routine as he waited. It seemed unfair to him that he knew Vince so well. He knew how he liked his coffee, he knew what products he used in his hair, he knew what his favourite flavour of fruit winders was, he knew every item of clothing in Vince's wardrobe inside and out. And yet Vince knew nothing about him. Least of all the most important thing.

"HOWARD!"

Ah, there it was. Sighing resignedly, Howard trudged upstairs to face Vince.

****

It had been an accident. Howard had only wanted to bring Vince a cuppa, to perk him up a little when he woke. He'd cleared a little room on his dressing table, and placed a steaming mug down, wrinkling his nose a little in distaste at the thought of drinking his own tea with the addition of six sugars. It was a wonder that Vince's teeth were as good as they were, with all the sweets and sugar he ate. Howard had shook his hands as he'd turned towards Vince's bed, the cool air soothing his fingers where they'd previously been scalded by Vince's "K.I.S.S" mug. He'd smiled at the sight which had greeted him: Vince had been curled in a ball under the duet, his fists bunched and pressed to his face, the sweep of his eyelashes almost brushing his cheeks, make up, smudged and smoky below his eyes. His features had been arranged in a picture of innocent ignorance, the mouth slightly open, the eyes fluttering slightly as he dreamed. Howard had smiled again and walked forward, placing a hand on Vince's forehead and smoothing the electro-boy's unkempt raven locks away from his eyes. As Vince had nuzzled into Howard's touch, the older man's breath had caught. Slowly, nervously, wanting to leave but knowing he couldn't have, he'd leaned down, hovered for what seemed an eternity, then finally pressed his lips to Vince's cheek.

Vince had stirred in his sleep, his eyelids flickering, as Howard had straightened up swiftly.

"Howard?" he'd mumbled fuzzily, and Howard had panicked. In a state of blind terror, he'd stumbled backwards, knocking into the dressing table. The mug of tea had overturned, and Howard had watched in alarm and dismay as the sticky liquid had splashed over Vince's hair straighteners. They were brand-fucking-new as well, Howard had thought in irritation and worry. GDH's, or whatever they were called. Good hair straighteners. Vince loved them.

Biting his lip in guilt and fear, he'd stolen one last glance at Vince to make sure that the smaller man was sleeping still, then gotten the hell out of there.

But now, he was having to face the music. Nervously, he hovered outside Vince's room.

"Howard!"

Howard gulped and pushed the door open. Vince was sitting at his vanity table, his hair tousled and free of products, his face naked, for once lacking pink lip gloss and eyeliner. He looked angry.

"What have you done to my GHDs, you bumbaclaat?!"

"Sorry," Howard murmured, feeling bad. "I spilled tea. I'll get you new ones."

"You spilled tea…" Vince repeated, looking as though he might faint. Howard waited patiently, unsure as to what would come next.

"Sorry," he eventually offered again, when the silence became too awkward to bear.

"Don't worry about it, Howard. It's not like you care about my hair, is it? Why would you give a toss that you'd ruined my brand new straighteners?" Vince sounded suddenly venomous. Howard had expected anger. But nothing like the poisonous, malignant tone that fell from Vince's chapped lips. He was stunned and upset.

"I said I was sorry! It was an accident!"

"It's not even about that!" Vince cried. "I wouldn't have cared if it had been, I don't know, a copy of cheekbone or a CD. It's because…." He hesitated, then flung the words at Howard like spears. "You're jealous!"

Howard reeled back from the harshness of Vince's unfeeling words. He was crushed by the bitterness in Vince's voice, and what the man was saying was so far from the truth. Howard wasn't jealous… And something about Vince's shifting feet and avoidant eyes made him believe that Vince knew it.

"Vince, you know I'm not jealous of you."

"Well, why else would you ruin my GHDs?"

"I didn't mean to ruin them! It was an accident! I didn't even see your GDHs, I just came to give you a cup of tea!"

"GHDs, you idiot! And tea? When I wasn't even awake?" Vince shouted. "As if! You're jealous. You just don't want me to be pretty."

Howard blinked stupidly, then recovered his aplomb. "Vince, you're always pretty, even before you've done your bloody hair!" He realised suddenly that his last statement had been a little.. Gushing. Vince was looking at him strangely.

"You don't want me to look nice," he insisted, but the assured note in his voice was beginning to waver slightly.

"Why would I want you to look bad?" Howard questioned gently. He considered nervously for a moment, and then added, "I probably couldn't if I wanted to."

Vince glanced up at Howard, a flick of his eyes so quick that Howard couldn't have been certain he'd seen it in usual circumstances. However, the meticulous way he was examining Vince made sure that he caught it, and his heart jumped as he saw the puzzled and yet triumphant light in Vince's beautiful, icy blue eyes.

"Howard?" he chanced, his voice shaking.

"Mm?" the man replied casually, his eyes searching the carpet.

"I… umm… I'm sorry I shouted at you."

"That's okay, little man. I broke your GDHs."

Vince smiled a tiny secret smile, letting the mistake go. "Yeah, but it was an accident, wasn't it?"

"Why d'you suddenly believe me now?" Howard asked, cringing as his voice came out, blunt and ugly.

Vince was silent for a moment. Then:

"Howard… Y'know I only do my hair and stuff for you, right?"

Howard started. His eyes widened almost to the size of 5p coins as his mind raced deliriously to all the conclusions that he had worked for, prayed for…

Vince was still talking. "…An' I just wanna look pretty for you cos even though I know you won't feel the same way cos y'know, I'm a sparkly titbox and whatever I still wanna make the effort for you, but I get that you wanted me to stop showing off for you, it's fine, I'll stop putting my make up and stuff on, I understand that you don't want me and breaking my GHDs was probably a hint that I should stop tryin' to impress you an'…"

Vince's babbling ceased abruptly as Howard snapped out of the stunned stupor he'd been standing in, and laid a trembling finger over Vince's bare lips.

"Say that again," he said urgently. Vince looked puzzled.

"Breaking the GHDs, I know you said it was an accident but it wasn't, was it, and that's okay cos I know why…"

"Vince, shut up, you ponce! What was the bit about "feeling the same way"?"

"Well I know you wont love me too and that's obvious cos I wear…"

"Vince! I love you!"Vince finally shut his mouth. And then opened it. And then closed it again, and frowned, sweet furrows forming between his eyebrows, scepticism teetering and on the brink of toppling over into whole and beautiful acceptance and elation. Howard watched, feeling his heart beat so hard in his chest that he thought he might have to cough it up and hand it to Vince.

"Howard… I… you love me?"

Howard nodded, and Vince's eyes widened as Howard's had previously. Like fucking wagon-wheels, Howard thought, half irritably, half adoringly. Those stunningly pretty eyes.

"God… Umm…" Vince laughed nervously, unsure of the proper etiquette in this situation. "This is weird. Of all the times I'd pictured this, I was never in my Pokemon pyjamas. And My hair was never this messy, and I always had my make up on and…"Howard took one look at Vince's anxiously adorable face, the unstoppable awkward babbling making him seem even sweeter in the lazy afternoon light.

"You've never looked more beautiful," he interrupted, quietly. Vince's voice trailed away and he stared at Howard in wonder.

"Really?"

"Mm. You're amazing."

Vince smiled softly and stepped towards Howard. He arranged his arms around the taller man's shoulders and they exchanged a small, frightened, but trusting smile. And then, Howard brought his mouth down upon Vince's.

They kissed, aware of nothing else but each other, of their lips touching sensually, of their tongues dancing tenderly, fluidly, as though they were born for this very moment. Both men felt their breaths catch and the dizzy, spinning sensations that they had felt only once before (when they'd been in the room with Naboo too long-he'd been smoking a packet of HobNobs) surrounded them, hurtling them into a world of giddy fear, exciting danger… true love.

They pulled away from each other's lips finally, to breathe. Vince smiled and hugged Howard to him, turning them both to face the mirror and examining how Howard and himself looked as a couple. His breath caught again.

"Look at my fucking hair! It was bad enough before you ran your fingers through it, small eyes," he teased, smiling to let Howard know his attack had been light-hearted. Howard grinned, rolling his eyes.

"I won't do it again, in that case."

Vince looked at himself in the mirror again, frowning, trapped in what looked like a heavy internal debate.

"Hey! I thought all your sprucing was for me?" Howard laughed.

"I meant most," Vince answered absently, before turning towards his new lover with a grin. "It's not worth it, though, is it?"

Howard shook his head, smiling gently.

"Mess it up, Howard," Vince whispered, in low and sultry tones. Howard's stomach did a back flip, as he took Vince's hand and led him towards what would become, by unspoken mutual agreement, "their" bed. And there they remained for the entire afternoon.

Messing up Vince's hair.


End file.
